Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

“Would you look at this cow bezoar!” He was so excited, he raised it in his bloody hands to look at it in the sunlight. Steam still hovered around the object.

Aunty Liu’s husband dragged Zhuang inside to sit at a table with food and drink.

When Zhuang finally woke up from his dazed state, he noticed that there was a large basket next to him filled with chunks of beef, while the bloody hide was spread over the fence to dry. He did not have anything to drink.

“I would like to buy the hide,” he said.

The man tossed down a mouthful of liquor and said, “Oh, so you’re a leather merchant? This is an excellent hide. What are you offering?”

“I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Don’t talk about price,” Liu cut in. “If you want it, Mr. Zhuang, it’s yours.”

. . .

After arriving at Dazheng’s house, Liu Yue immediately realized that her husband’s house, like Zhuang’s, had a constant stream of visitors, with one difference: Zhuang’s guests were cultural figures, while those coming to Dazheng’s house were mostly high-ranking officials from government bureaus and departments, factory owners, and businessmen. They never came empty-handed, bringing gifts ranging from big-ticket items like refrigerators and color TVs to smaller presents such as cigarettes, liquor, and fruit; and they all followed the same rule, placing the gifts in a small windowless storage room next to the shoe rack while changing into slippers. They would then sit in the living room to talk to the host, the former saying nothing about the gifts, the latter offering no thanks for them. Liu Yue did not have to come out to greet visitors, except when her mother-in-law or husband called to her, “Come join us, Liu Yue.” She would then come out of the bedroom, as pretty as a flower, and smile charmingly at the guests, occasionally engaging in a bit of idle chat. She knew unerringly when they had finished their tea, but instead of attending to it herself, she called out, “Come pour some more tea, Xiaoju.”

Liu Yue had met the maid Xiaoju on the morning after the wedding. She was sorting chives in the kitchen. Unconsciously Liu Yue went over and picked up a handful, but she quickly dropped them to wash her hands at the sink. The maid snorted. As she scrubbed her hands with a bar of perfumed soap, Liu Yue asked, “What’s your name?”

“Xiaoju.”

“Let’s have some dumplings today, Xiaoju,” Liu Yue said. “Don’t skimp on the dried shrimps. Let me know before you add them and I’ll do it.”

Without responding, Xiaoju continued to sort the chives for a moment. “The dumplings at the mayor’s house never have dried shrimps.”

Liu Yue paused and scowled. “I don’t care. That’s how I want them.” She flicked the water off her hands and, without turning off the faucet, walked back to her room, accompanied by the sound of gushing water. “Turn off the faucet.”

Bored to tears after ten days, she told Dazheng she wanted a job. He said they had someone working on her city residency, and she couldn’t work until it was finalized. Saying she didn’t care, she insisted on finding a job. He relayed her demand to his mother, who, after lengthy consideration, called Ruan Zhifei and asked him to find something for Liu Yue at his dance hall. She started the next day.

Liu Yue was neither a singer nor a dancer, but she had a pretty face and a good figure, so she learned to walk the runway with the models. The long-legged, narrow-waisted models were all attractive, but their faces betrayed a lack of education. Liu Yue, on the other hand, had read enough to give her a refined look, and since she knew how to highlight her graceful bearing, she soon became the top model. When the residents of the city came to a fashion show, they were there for the models, not for the clothes. In other words, no matter what the fashion designers put on the models, in the spectators’ eyes the women were naked, which was why the members of the audience were often heard to say that a certain one had a pretty face but was too big in the butt, or another one was too skinny and could use larger breasts. In the end, they all thought the sexiest and most fetching woman was the model Liu Yue, who elicited whistles and lewd shouts every time she showed up. Talk of the beautiful model at Ruan Zhifei’s dance hall spread, and his business boomed.

One day Meng Yunfang arranged a noontime meeting between the old man who had the sole copy of Master Shao’s Magic Numbers and the master from Xinjiang. After the manager at the Changhong Hotel provided them with free room and board, the two masters, in order both to express their gratitude and, most importantly, to show each other up, offered to use their magic to improve the manager’s health and to predict the future business at the hotel. That went on throughout the day. To repay Meng, the manager gave him an old-style copper hot pot shaped like a lotus flower, along with five jin of mutton and three types of condiments. Accepting everything with a broad smile, Meng took the gift home and called Zhuang and Zhao over to share the food. Still in low spirits, Zhuang ate little; instead he turned on the TV, where an imported fifty-episode gangster drama was playing. First came an ad for Ruan’s dance hall.

“Did you know, Zhidie, that Liu Yue is working at the dance hall as a model, and a very popular one, too?”

“Great. That’s a good job for her. How did you hear that? Do you go dancing often?”

“Me? No way.”

“He’s never been, but his son goes all the time,” Xia Jie said.

“What’s a youngster like Meng Jin doing there? Can he afford it?” Zhuang asked.

“That’s the problem,” she said. “I ran into Ruan Zhifei three days ago, and he said, ‘That son of yours is quite the clever one. He comes to the dance hall every three or four days with his classmates, and when the doorman asks to see their tickets, he tells them that Ruan Zhifei is his uncle and that Liu Yue is his older sister, and then he walks right in.’ When the doorman asked Ruan if he had such a nephew, Ruan saw that it was Meng Jin. He said the kid would surely grow up to be just like his old man, someone to be reckoned with. When I got home, I told Meng to have a talk with the boy, but all I got in return was a frown. Look at him. He’s upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Meng forced a smile onto his unhappy face and said, “Let’s go see Liu Yue one of these days. We don’t want to make her think she’s like that proverb — a married daughter is like splashed water.”

“Sure,” Zhuang replied. “Why don’t you set it up?”

“What’s there to set up? After we’re done here, I have to go to the Propaganda Department. The head of the department called yesterday and asked me to come over this afternoon. It’s nothing important, just to get Meng Jin’s master to use qigong to help his wife pass a bladder stone. I’m going today not to help with the treatment, but to set up an appointment.”

“Aren’t you the busy man,” Xia said. “One moment you’re talking about visiting the mayor’s daughter-in-law, and the next you have to set up treatments for the department head’s wife. Are you going to get up and leave your writer friends here?”

“Now you’re making me sound like a petty snob. It will only take half an hour to deal with the department head. Keep up the conversation. Let’s meet at the dance hall at four.”

“You can go, but count me out,” Zhao said.

“Don’t be small-minded, Jingwu,” Meng Yunfang said. “Are you afraid to see Liu Yue now that she’s married to someone else? She should be afraid of seeing you. You don’t have to interact with her if you don’t want to. Just dance. You might actually meet someone.”

“You’re driving me nuts with all this chatter. Go if you want,” Xia Jie said. “But I’m telling you, Yunfang, since you’re going for a good time, don’t take Meng Jin with you and get more complaints from the doorman. I can’t afford any more embarrassment.”